


Water Works

by maypoison



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: BBC Sherlock Imagines, Contest Entry, F/M, Fluff, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-07
Updated: 2015-04-07
Packaged: 2018-03-21 17:34:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3700981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maypoison/pseuds/maypoison
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: Imagine Sherlock accidentally making you cry, and him freaking out because he feels guilty and doesn’t know how to comfort you.</p><p>(This fic won 4th place in the 'BBC Sherlock Imagines' One Shot contest!)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Water Works

You were alone in the small flat, and that meant you had no choice but to lean forward, and grab the television remote yourself. You wanted to watch something, but why did the thing have to be all the way over there …

Groaning, and attempt to sit up.

You. Were. Stuffed.

Looking down at the floor next to the sofa, you spot the two other empty cartons of Ben and Jerry’s and can’t help but grimace as your head falls back down in defeat. Three cartons of ice cream, and you still felt like crap. 

You give up your monumental task of sitting up, and instead place the third empty carton on the floor next to the other two. You actually groan out loud when you take in the rest of the living room, and the kitchen beyond that.

Sherlock Holmes was probably going to be back any minute, and the small London flat you shared with him was in total chaos.

You had completely destroyed the kitchen in your effort to find some food (that was of course, before you had decided on the ice cream) and you didn’t even want to think about how long it would take to put everything in the living room back the way it was.

Before you can even begin to form a plan to solve the mayhem before you, the tell-tale sound of footsteps echo up the stairs leading to your flat, and your roommate comes into view.

“Hello.” Sherlock doesn’t smile as he greets you, but you notice the fondness in his expression when he quickly glances over to where you were still led on the sofa.

You smile in response to his greeting, about to welcome him home, when he steps into the kitchen, and his eyes widen.

You wince; this wasn’t going to be good …

“What in the name of …”

“Sorry.” You interrupt quickly, and roll off the sofa.

Sherlock scoffs, shakes his head, and places two small shopping bags on the large kitchen counter. That is, after he has cleared an area on the work surface. You smile apologetically as you enter the room, but Sherlock doesn’t seem mad, or even upset. If possible, that worries you more than if he was angry.

“Feeling any better?” The man asks conversationally as he shrugs off his long black coat, and you take it from him to hang it up. That being the least you could do, considering the mayhem you had inflicted.

“No.” You reply grumpily, before reaching down and rubbing your stomach. Damn, sometimes being a woman sucked. After hanging the coat, you walk back into the kitchen, and pull yourself onto one of the high chairs, and sigh. “How was work?” Sherlock turns to glance at you quickly, and you can’t read his expression. “What?” You question, cautiously.

“That was lot of questions in a row.” The detective notes, and you laugh lightly. You both had a habit of doing that; asking each other questions. Sherlock was always curious, and you, well you were just nosey by nature.

“Sorry. I’ll stop with the inquisition.” You reply fondly, before gesturing zipping your lips shut. You sit in silence for a few seconds, before your curiosity gets the better of you, and you can’t help but ask your roommate, “What’s in the bags?”

Sherlock smiles down at the bags as he unloads and sorts through them, clearly amused that you couldn’t keep quiet for more than a few seconds. “Food.” The detective answers simply, and you frown

“I thought you were working? With Lestrade, at the station?” You prompt, feeling rather stupid when Sherlock turns to scowl at you.

“I was. I went on the way home.”

Your mouth falls into a silent ‘Oh’ and Sherlock seems mollified, but you still can’t help but feel, slightly confused. “You went shopping on the way home? How domestic of you Sherlock…” You jest, enjoying the fact that your comment elicits an eye roll from your friend.

Sherlock ignores your childish teasing, and begins to unload some of the food he had purchased into the fridge. The very same fridge you remember, that had held a severed human head just a few days ago. You tried not to think about that …

“I brought you some strawberries.” Sherlock states casually, and that gets your attention.

“What?”

“This morning, you mentioned that you were craving some.” Sherlock continues, his back to you as he continues to place things meticulously in the refrigerator.

“You remembered that?” You question, shocked.

“Well yes. I …”

Sherlock turns, halting his sentence mid-way when he notices that you were leaning down onto the table, and crying softly into your arms.

You don’t hear the man move, and know that he is frozen in place, merely watching you. “What is it?”

“Nothing?” You murmur, before sniffling loudly.

“Why are you crying?” The detective continues, still frozen next to the open refrigerator. Honestly, it’s as if he thought you were a wild animal that needed to be approached warily … Although, that was a pretty apt description, considering your current state.

“I’m …” You sit up, and attempt to clear away your tears, but seeing Sherlock’s concerned and gentle gaze only prompts more to spring to your eyes. You let out a sob, before leaning back on your arms once again.

“Please stop.”

You laugh slightly, but still can’t halt your blubbering. You sniffle once again, and manage to sit up, and wipe away some tears from your cheeks. 

“Thank you.”

Sherlock frowns, but apparently appears reassured for now, as he closes the fridge with one hand, still not taking his eyes from your face. “What?”

“Thanks for the strawberries Sherlock. It was very sweet.”

“You’re …” Suddenly the detective sighs, and rubs a large hand down his face. “You’re crying because I purchased you fruit?”

“Yes.” You reply quickly, before another sob quickly wracks your body. Damn hormones.

“Ok.”

Sherlock turns, and places the now empty bag on the table, before moving to sort through the next one. You smile at him, your eyes still filled with unshed tears, and notice your friend was looking at you like you were half mad.

Sighing, you swing down from the chair, and walk over to the kettle. “I’m going to make some tea. Do you want some?”

“Please.” Sherlock responds quietly, and warily. Clearly, he was worried about setting you off again.

“Oh, and sorry about the mess.” You add, waving a hand in the general direction of the living room, all the while reaching up to grab some tea bags from a kitchen cupboard.

Sherlock sighs loudly, and you bite your lip as you fill the kettle with water. Apparently, your friend hadn’t even noticed the chaos in the living room.

“Was there an explosion?” He asks, deadpan.

“Ha ha.” You mock, switching on the kettle. “No, no explosion. I couldn’t find something.”

“That’s not surprising.” Sherlock murmurs, noting the paperwork flooding the desk, and the pile of clothes at the end of the sofa.

You smile as Sherlock takes a seat opposite were you had been sat at the kitchen table, waiting for his drink.

“So, the case, are you going to tell me?”

The detective smirks, pleased you think, with your enthusiasm. “What would you like to know?” He asks, just as the kettle clicks.

“Everything.”


End file.
